


(space) ships in the night

by Ericine



Series: Lush [13]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Occupation of Bajor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-19 18:29:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11903661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ericine/pseuds/Ericine
Summary: They met before a lot of things happened. A lot of things. And it mattered.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Star Trek Rarepair Swap, for listenhereyoungblood. As with most things I do, it grew and grew and grew. I owe you a second part, okay? But I wanted to at least attempt to make this deadline. <3

“What happened to you?”

There are many young people in in the camp with them - too many. Kira Nerys has only been here a few weeks, but her job is to learn the ins and outs of the camp for their attack. Young people - especially girls, for the Cardassians - are less easily noticed (until they get older, that is, but Nerys is wiry, even scrawnier when she hides under the oversized rags not uncommon in the camps).

She knows every person here camp by now because it’s her job to know. This girl is new.

The girl won’t uncover her face. She’s tall - Nerys can tell this even though she’s sitting crumpled in the corner, her head in her hands. Her hands shine with wetness, and Nerys needs to be able to tell if it’s blood or tears. She squats to her level, partially to help her communicate and partially to block others’ views. It’s not very crowded, but maybe the people who hurt her will come back. If it was the Cardassians, Nerys needs to move her pretty quickly, somewhere relatively out of view.

“Nothing,” the girl says, and it’s dripping with such quiet coldness that Nerys feels a little relief. She has hair darker than Nerys’, and she’s wearing it short, a mistake in the camps. Best to keep everything as low-maintenance as possible - long hair, long fingernails, slightly dirty clothes. It attracts less attention. Shorter hair is, of course, better in a fight, and Nerys keeps the bottom layer of her hair chopped. She’s kept it long on top for the camp assignment. But this girl doesn’t have as much experience fighting. She’s just angry and scared.

But she’s at least learned how to keep people away with her words. That’ll help her a little. “Bullshit,” Nerys replies, in her own version of this girl’s voice, simmering fire. Scarier and angrier. But she’s had more practice at this. “I can’t stand bullies.”

“Well, the bullies weren’t the Cardassians. They were us. I’m not going to tell you  _ who _ ,” says the girl, still behind her hands. “I don’t even know who. I don’t know anyone. I got here last night,” she adds quietly.

“Family?”

“My father’s dead.”

“How many before?” This question always means camps. By now, she can pretty much tell (this one hasn’t been in so many), but it’s still part of the usual camp back-and-forth with a new arrival (this is, of course, assuming you actually want to get to know the new arrival and not make off with all her stuff).

“Just one.”

There it was.

“My mother’s dead. Father and two brothers. Four camps before this one.” That last part’s not true, but they’re never under any obligation to be honest with each other with the usual questions. Everyone knows this, but it’s still better to go off the assumption of the truth. “Sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks,” she says, with that icy tone again.  _ Go away _ .

“I’m Nerys. And the best way to show the bullies not to mess with you is to either fight them first, or make friends with someone they won’t mess with.” The Cardassians have taken away everything. All that was left was power over each other. That’s even clearer when you’re a kid and have nowhere to put your anger. Maybe she would have been like them if she hadn’t joined the Resistance. So many places to take out her anger, her disgust, her anguish. At the people who actually started this.

“And that’s you?”

“I don’t need to hurt other Bajorans to know that I’m strong.”

“Laren.”

“Sorry?”

“I’m Laren, Nerys.” The girl - Laren - uncovers her face. It’s swelling rapidly around the cheeks and jaw, but there’s no blood, just bruising. A lot of bruising that’s going to get worse before it gets better. “And I hate Bajorans.”

That sends a chill through Nerys that she doesn’t quite understand, but she ignores it. And the flash of anger that courses through her veins. Laren’s not supposed to know who she works for, how hard she fights for people like her.

It’s also not the first time she’s heard someone say something like this to her in this camp. Or in any camp, for that matter. “Okay,” Nerys tells her, “but I’m the only one around right now, and I want to clean up your face. Is that okay?”

She can’t be much older than her - maybe a even year younger? Sixteen, maybe? “Fine,” replies Laren. Still icy but a whisper now. Sullen. But when she takes Nerys’ offered hand (with hesitation, of course), it’s warmer than most.

* * *

Nerys doesn’t have a bed. She doesn’t need one, and beds are hard to come by, especially when the last record of her in the camps was in a one completely different from this one, but the Cardassians aren’t known for their record-keeping. She’s able to get around here without anyone poking around and asking who she is. That technically means that she’s not allotted any living space officially, but she’s trying to fit in, so she’s fashioned herself a lean-to of sorts out of odds and ends. The camp looks more like a cave and is hardly exposed to the elements, but everyone tries to close themselves in somehow. She does the same. She’s not sure whether she likes having her own space again or if she wants the view more open so she can observe more of what’s happening around her.

She has some blanket shells, which she’s stuffed with various odds and ends for insulation (and to hide things). They’re reasonably fluffy. She keeps her food rations sewed into the lining of her clothes, so she’s not too concerned when she offers the mat and Laren sits on top of everything.

Medical care in the camps is laughable, but she’s gotten pretty good at bandaging things up in the field. She gives Laren some exposed metal to hold over her face - at least the coolness will feel alright temporarily. The camp is cold because that’s the season they’re in, and she has wet rags freezing outside for various purposes (she won’t tell Laren, but she’s healing from bruises of her own on her back).

When she hands the rags over to Laren, Nerys notes that, though she can’t tell much about the shape of her face, she has nice brown eyes. Deep, kind of like her own.

If she hadn’t chosen to leave, they could be in the same place. Nerys pushes the thought away.

Laren doesn’t make any noise but exhales hard when Nerys holds the rags, wrapped in dry rags, to her face.

“Maybe it was my fault,” she says into the cloth. “But they were already going to beat me up. I couldn’t take three of them. One of them mentioned the Prophets, and I just--do you believe in them, the Prophets?”

“Yes,” says Nerys immediately. She realizes, suddenly, how automatic it sounds. True, of course, but rehearsed.

“Well, I don’t,” snaps Laren. “If they were real, why would they leave us in a place like this?”

Nerys has put together a floor of sorts - bits and pieces of hard things that she’s found around the camp to put a layer between her and the dirt floor, but she hasn’t done too much in the way of chairs - she doesn’t need them. She’s been squatting on the floor. Now, she sits, knees open, her giant clothes pooling around her, her own tent. “I think the Prophets help those who help themselves.” And maybe each other. But she’s not completely sure about that last part.

Laren scoffs. “And how was I supposed to help myself out of this one?”

“We can’t do everything ourselves,” says Nerys quietly. She knows Laren’s frustration. She deals with it too. But that’s why she joined the Resistance. She wanted to do something to help. “I wish I could. But we find other people who can help, and it’s better. We’re stronger.”

“Well, I don’t think they can help,” says Laren. “They beat my face so badly because saying I didn’t believe made them even angrier. The only reason they stopped was because their parents pulled them away.” To be chastised, no doubt, figures Nerys. “But none of them stopped to help me. The guards were coming.”

“And what did you do?”

“I ran. No one chased.” Nerys wonders if they’re alike in that way, lying about their families being around when really they’re all alone, not sure what’s happened to the family that was alive the last they saw. It’s none of her business, of course.

Laren is running her hands over the stuffed cushion that serves as Nerys’ bed. “I haven’t had anything this nice to sleep on in months. Who’d you have to beat up to be able to get this?”

“This was pure scavenging.”

Laren pulls the ice back from her face for a moment, looks Nerys over carefully, really carefully for the first time. Nerys is suddenly glad for all the clothes she’s wearing. “You don’t seem like the kind of person who’d have to resort to scavenging.

Nerys lets that go unanswered, though the heat rises in her cheeks. “Well, you’re welcome to the mat, if you don’t have to go home.” Laren stares dubiously. “I’ll find something else.”

Laren still looks unsure. “I don’t have anything on me worth stealing,” she warns, then tentatively lies back.

When Nerys comes back with half a sleeping roll she’s scrounged up, she finds Laren deeply and quietly asleep. With all the tension gone from her face, she looks fragile and bruised.

Nerys lays out her bedding and lies on it but doesn’t sleep. Is this what they were working for, to preserve this?

She’d probably die before she found out.

She has a mission to complete - at least another couple of weeks here - and she’s managed to pick up a roommate.

Maybe Laren would leave tomorrow. Though, if Nerys is completely honest with herself, she misses sleeping, knowing people were nearby.

* * *

Laren stays. A week goes by. Nerys wakes up and leaves, secures food, picks up on happenings in the camp - it’s been slow for a while, and she can’t tell if that’s a break for her or if things are about to get a lot worse for the Bajorans. She returns in the evening to Laren, which feels like the smallest of miracles. She eats with Laren. They sleep. They don’t talk much, but Laren’s face is looking better, so Nerys gets herself used to the idea that she’s going to wake up one day and Laren’s going to be gone.

* * *

Nerys teaches her some odds and ends - the basics of engineering together basic living essentials, the bare survival skills she’s gotten so good at in the wilderness, the science behind the minimal treatment for Laren’s face and other injuries. Laren gets to where she can build a fire unaided. They heat up their food at night and their bedding before they sleep.

“What do you do all day?” Nerys asks one night. Laren stares. It’s a direct violation of their unspoken  _ no questions _ rule, after all. “Is there something I can get for you while I’m out? That’s all I want to know.”

“I want to get out of here,” says Laren. Her face’s swelling has gone down, but it’s still a swirl of dark colors. It has to hurt. “I don’t know. I get the food. I get the water. I try not to let anyone see my face. That generally takes up half my day. Plenty of time left to think about how I could get out of here. You?”

“I’m mapping the camp so I can get out of here,” says Nerys. That’s not too far off the truth.

Laren blinks, wide-eyed and sarcastic, which has to hurt her face. “And I suppose you’ll catch a Federation starship and come back with a fleet to liberate us all.”

Laren doesn’t laugh, but Nerys does, a full-bellied, contemptuous laugh that earns them a “shut up” from their neighbors. She manages to slow it to a silent, shaking set of giggles.

They don’t go straight to sleep that night. They just lie there looking up at the top of Nerys’ shelter, pretending they’re not stealing glances at each other.

* * *

There’s a very weak spot in the perimeter of the camp, partially due to the natural way of the land and partially because whatever has the Cardassians at this camp occupied has continued. Nerys has known about it for a while but hasn’t been able to test it until today. She wouldn’t need to use it - Resistance people will come and get her out in a few days. But that’s not the only thing it can be used for.

She wonders how lonely a person has to be to be craving the presence - just the presence - of a complete stranger. Nerys doesn’t even really know what she  _ wants _ really. But having Laren there makes everything better. She wishes she could stay longer, even though it’s very possible that everything Laren’s ever told Nerys about herself is a complete lie. But things seem less bleak when she’s sleeping across the room. The closest thing to comfort she's had in years.

It’s still cold, but Laren’s face doesn’t need the ice any more. Now, it’s all warmth. “How badly is it hurting now?” Nerys asks, spooning her some of the last soup to eat.

“Not badly enough for your pity soup,” says Laren tightly. “You think I’m not used to being hungry either?”

“It’s not a competition.” Nerys shrugs and picks up the spoon.

“We’ll split it.”

“Fine. You eat. I’ll hold the rags.”

It’s kind of a weird practice, Nerys holding Laren’s head between her hands as she eats. There doesn’t seem to be enough room for their elbows.

Laren sighs, dips the spoon down into the bowl, then back up, holding it in front of Nerys’ face. “Open up.” Nerys obeys.

They finish the soup that way, alternating soupfuls. There’s nowhere to look but into Laren’s eyes, so she does. Her arms are aching. She doesn’t care.

Slowly, so unusually slowly (nothing moves slowly for Nerys, and it hasn’t for a long time), Laren lowers the bowl, then reaches up and takes Nerys’ hands where they’ve frozen on her face. She’s already forgotten how warm Laren’s hands are. Together, they move their hands down, to Nerys’ neck, to her shoulders.

“Thank you,” Laren says shortly, maybe to fill silence. Nerys is too aware of every heavy breath she’s taking - and Laren’s too.

She’s never wanted to kiss someone so badly in her life. She’s also sure she’s never had this bad an idea.

Her breaths turn into a gasp when Laren is the one who kisses her, bruised face and all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nerys and Laren meet for the second time on Deep Space 9.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All hail awkward clumsy teenage dry-humping, haha. Thanks again to listenhereyoungblood for letting me write this pairing. It works so nicely, and I feel like there's so much more to be explored.

Nerys realizes that she might not be able to recognize Ro Laren anymore, not really. The one day she came up in conversation on Deep Space Nine, when her face was up on the database, she’d watched the way that Benjamin Sisko’s face had changed when he heard the word “Enterprise,” and she’d proceeded quickly, not looking at the face. But oh, she remembered the name, and when Nerys steps into the brig to find a woman sitting bent over, with her elbows on her knees, she finds herself thrown back into that camp all over again.

Laren looks up, straight into her eyes, fearless, harder than the last time they met. “Well,” she says, voice dripping with the same chill as before, with a hint of disdain, “you sure as hell look the same.”

Nerys turns around and nods to the security detail by the door. He walks out.

“You sure you want to do that?” Laren asks, looking to the side. “I could be very dangerous, you know. I know all the Starfleet tricks.”

_ It feels - it feels like being hungry. Physically hungry. Mentally hungry. Emotionally hungry. Every loss she’s ever felt, intensified and sated. _

_ It always feels like this. They all live between two extremes, now. This kiss is like it’s their last (maybe it will be their last). _

_ For someone so much like stone, Laren kisses deliberately, passionately. Nerys arches into her mouth, and Laren’s hands are sliding again, down Nerys’ arms to the tops of her thighs. _

“I’m not Starfleet,” Nerys says. Then, with the smallest of smirks, she adds, “For some reason, I feel I can trust you.”

“I knew you were resistance,” Laren says, still not looking at her. “I mean, not at the time, but after. I heard. I guess I should have known. You helped get me out.”

Nerys takes three steps forward toward the force field that keeps Laren away. “I did no such thing.”

“So one day I wake up and find a map of the only secure way out of the camp?” Laren asks. “You didn’t leave it?”

“I must have left it behind.”

_ They pull away and stare at each other, breathing hard but quietly (always quietly, never good to make too much noise anywhere - in the camps or on a mountain side, waiting to ambush some Cardassians). _

_ “This is okay?” asks Laren, somewhere between nervous and laughing. _

_ Nerys feels her eyes widen and her mouth turn up a little at the corners. “Yeah.” _

_ “Have you done this before?” _

_ “Sort of. You?” _

_ “Yeah.” _

_ “Yeah?” _

_ “Yeah, as in sort of.” _

_ Nerys can’t help but giggle quietly. That makes sense. Everyone grabs opportunities where they can, but at the end of the day, there’s just not a lot of time. She (gently, or as gently as she can) pulls Laren down onto the makeshift bed. _

Laren barks out a small laugh. “Please, Nerys.” And Nerys feels an unexpected shudder at the woman using her name after all this time. “I would have thought it would be the other way around - you with the rebellion, me, on the side of the law.”

“I was doing what I thought was right,” Nerys shrugs. “Looks like you were doing the same thing.”

Laren laughs again. “You say you’re not Starfleet, but you talk just like them. The last conversation I had with one of them was, uh…” She trails off.

“I never thought I’d see you again,” Nerys tells her truthfully.

_ And then there’s just a lot of touching - clumsy because of the sort of, but that doesn’t make it any less enjoyable. Her hands on the fabric over Laren’s back, her stomach, her breasts. She winces the first time Laren’s hands, eager, find the bruise on her back, and then they’re both more careful, light on each other’s skin under their clothes. _

_ They don’t give themselves the vulnerability of being unclothed in the middle of their less-than-private lean-to, but Nerys commits the scars to her memory - one on the back of Laren’s knee, another on her flower back, and one - curiously - right on the base of her neck, where her hair meets bare skin. _

_ Laren’s palm feathers over her bare breast, and Nerys swallows a whimper. It’s not like they don’t hear things like this happening all over the camp - it’s a need without feeling like you might die tomorrow, and there’s rarely any privacy as it is. But both of them want to lay low, and that means silence, even as Laren hits her with a look while she’s thumbing her nipple, something wanting and breathless. _

_ Heat spreads throughout her body. Nerys kisses her again, murmurs her apology for bumping into her face, and Laren makes a short sound that means “shut up, I’m busy.” _

Laren sighs. “I didn’t either.” She hardens her voice again. “But I’m sure you didn’t bring me here to catch up. Just cut to it - what’s my punishment?”

Nerys raises an eyebrow. “You’re a wanted woman, Laren. Defecting from Starfleet. Working for the Maquis. Resisting capture.”

“Most of my fellow Maquis, my family, have been eliminated,” says Laren quietly. “It’s hard to tell who you can trust out here. First we were at war, and now…remember how it felt before Cardassians were about to make things worse for us, how we kind of - knew before it would happen?” Nerys frowns and nods. “That’s how it’s been for me for a while.”

Nerys crosses her arms. “Look, we’ve been through a war. We don’t want any more punishment than there needs to be…”

“So you don’t have enough personnel power to process me,” Laren says with a little smirk. “How long are you going to keep me down here?”

“Not quite,” says Nerys. “I oversee all of Deep Space Nine, and as I said before, I’m not Starfleet. Since your defence was mounted in our jurisdiction, I technically am the one who has final say.”

“What happened to…”

“To Captain Sisko? He’s not here - missing in action, sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“You probably wouldn’t believe it if I told you.”

Laren shrugs a shoulder. “I’ve had some weird shit happen to me. Try me.”

“He’s gone to the Prophets.” She nods at Laren’s earring, worn on the wrong side. “Or whatever you think the Prophets are.”

“No shit.”

“I couldn’t make it up. I guess that hasn’t made its way around the gossip circle yet?”

Laren gives her the grimmest of smiles. “I guess not.”

“But you’d know that a Maquis ship has gone missing, one that’s been unaccounted for up until now.”

“There are lots of those ships.”

“My contacts tell me it disappeared around the same time as a Federation starship  _ Voyager _ also went missing, somewhere in the Alpha Quadrant.” Laren doesn’t say anything now, just looks at her. “I’ve talked to the Federation. We’re willing to cut you a deal if you join the efforts to find them.”

Laren wears amusement the way she's always worn everything - with a touch of wryness. "You have contacts, do you?"

"This isn't the _Enterprise_. We play things a little differently here."

That scores points with Laren. “You don’t think they took each other out?”

“That’s not what the evidence suggests.” Nerys holds up a PADD. “The information’s all here. If you choose to work on the project, your sentence will be greatly lightened - or eliminated completely.”

Laren’s eyes flicker to the PADD. “They’ll decide at the end?”

“Yes.”

“You won’t turn me over to Starfleet.”

“No, and like you said, they have plenty to deal with right now.”

“They’re happy to make me your problem.”

Nerys shrugs. “Yes.”

“I was captured with two other people. Where are they?”

“Different rooms. I’ll take you to them.”

“If I sign on, what happens to them?”

“We link their sentences to yours. They might not have to serve any sentence at all if they help you out. I’m assuming you were in command?” Laren nods. “You think they’ll go for it?”

“Why don’t you start by asking if I’ll go for it?”

Nerys meets her stare.

Laren sighs and nods. “You know, a lot of us have been talking about what we would do if we got out of all of this - the Dominion War, whatever - alive. We didn’t know. I guess this is as good a thing as any.”

“Can I assume that I can take this forcefield down, you won’t rush me?”

Laren smirks. “I guess I owe most of my life’s trajectory to you. And they say there’s honor among thieves - former thieves. Whatever.”

_ They shift, legs between each others’ legs. Nerys’ leg is on the bottom, but she doesn’t mind because when they start moving, she forgets the way anything else feels. _

Nerys releases the forcefield, and Laren accepts the PADD from her. She sits back down, still inside the cell confines.

“Wow, I knew about Chakotay, but B’elanna Torres?” She shakes her head. “I didn’t know about her. Honestly, I wasn’t even sure she was alive before I knew about this. She and I worked together for a while. She was a friend of mine.” She scrolls through the reports. “I was glad when I heard about you in the Resistance, you know. I mean, I was glad you were okay, but you always seemed like someone who’d be doing something.”

“I thought the same.”

“You don’t have to lie.”

“No, seriously. You were new to it, but you hadn’t broken. That usually means you end up doing something.”

Laren half-rolls her eyes. “Starfleet.”

“Why’d you join?”

“They seemed like the good guys. Turns out everything’s much greyer than that.” She finishes skimming the PADD and blacks it out. “So, will we be working together?”

“I run the whole station, but this is one of my side projects, yes.”

Laren meets her eyes when she hands the PADD back, and there's that flash of warmth through Nerys' body again. “Well, then, I look forward to working with you.”


End file.
